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A True Story free porn video
Julia, A true story
I've never written a story before but I remember reading one time
that you should write about what you know. This is a true story. It
is the story of my life. It's not everything that happened in my life
- just the part that makes my life story a bit different from other
people's lives. Why am I writing it now? I could not have know years
ago what I now can see so clearly today. The passage of time has
afforded me the knowledge and understanding that only comes after
you've lived long enough to see the larger picture that has been your
life to that point. Some memories fade - perhaps in my case they were
the bad memories; leaving only the good ones that have surely grown
bigger and better with time. I can see now that I am none the worse
for having lived it.
I only recently discovered this website. While reading some of the
other stories - almost all fictional accounts of gender
reassignments, I thought you might like to read a real story about
real people and the lives they have lived. This story also forced me
to stop and think about how I got to this point in my life. Part of
this story was hard for me to write but I was surprised at how easy
other parts were. I'm sure I have suppressed some of the more painful
parts of my very early childhood so that only those good or better
memories come to mind. I hope you enjoy it.
I was born in rural Georgia in late 1952 to a single parent. At least
that's the term used today. Back then back then the term would have
been an unwed Mother. My mother was barely 18 years old when I was
born. Without many other families around to use as a point of
reference, I suppose a small boy does not even know that there
"should" be a mother and a "father" in a family. At any rate, the
father, a man, the other half of the procreation duo was never
discussed. As a matter of fact I can't remember many men at all in my
early childhood. I had very few kids near me to play with so I spent
my time in the fields and the woods near our house. Mother did not
work but we always had food to eat and the little house we lived in
had all of the comforts that were apparently typical in the few
houses around us.
I see now that my mother, Frances, was not much of a mother at all. I
don't think she ever really knew what it was like to be a mother. As
humans we have long lost the natural instincts that even our closest
primate relatives have. Without role models, we probably would all be
clueless as to the responsibilities of a parent much less knowing how
to be loving, nurturing and supportive. Her parents, my grandparents
lived about five hours away from us but the distance in terms of
attention they paid to their only daughter and their only grandchild
made it seem like they lived on the moon. I only have very sketchy
memories of the two of them and even those memories may just be my
mind playing tricks on me. To their credit or perhaps driven by their
guilt, they sent money each month so my mother did not have to work
and we never lacked the basic necessities. While raised in a rural
setting we did have music and books all around the house. The music
my mother played varied from classical to the popular music of the
day. My mother read a lot. I don't think it ever dawn on her to read
aloud to me. Looking back I don't think she had the slightest idea
what to do with me. There was little interaction at all beyond the
very basic care.
I do remember starting the first grade. I was not at all prepped for
what to expect. Having had little in the way of socialization, I did
not make friends easily. It was if I had dropped in from another
country. Looking back however, my going to school was the turning
point of my life but for none of the reasons that you might have
guessed. I did not find another world filled with knowledge. I did
not find the caring parent that had eluded me in a kindly teacher.
What happened was that my going to school - me not being around the
house - had left a void, the slightest little void in my mother's
life. When I got home from school she actually seemed to have missed
me. She was awkward about missing me but she did - in her own way,
miss my company. She had no great interest in my schoolwork. She
wanted to talk about what she was seeing on the television. Though
still relatively new, certainly to the rural South, television began
to expose everyone to things that were happening around the country.
Our conversations were about new detergents or appliances she had
seen. Had I heard the latest music? What Lucy and Ethel were doing. I
did not realize it yet but I was her only "girlfriend", never mind
the fact that I was her son, a six year old boy. She began to treat
me more and more like a friend. We would learn and practice what we
had seen on American Bandstand. Little by little I was loosing what
chance I had to become a son but I had an opening to become her
friend.
I had never been much of an athlete and did few "guy" things. I had
no one to toss the ball with or go fishing with. My only role model
was a young girl, not even a woman yet who because of me or at least
my birth, withdrew from the world of the "big city" to a solitary
life in Southern Georgia. My mother had a great dislike for men. The
only ones she ever tried to get close to either abandoned her or paid
little or no attention to her. Whether she spoke of this or as a
child I just picked it up, I don't really know. I do know that by an
early age my identity was more that of a female than a male. I
suppose this made our friendship easier.
In the 1950s, especially in the South, almost everyone smoked
cigarettes, my mother was no exception. My earliest memories of her
always include her with the green pack of Salems she was never
without. She smoked during her every task. I can imagine she was
smoking as I was delivered. During our conversations before school or
after I came home she would always be smoking. Thinking back I don't
remember sneaking cigarettes from her but I may have. At any rate it
was while I was in the first grade that I remember her offering me a
drag from her cigarette during one of our conversations. I don't
remember if I got sick or not the first time but as time went on I
did start smoking from time to time. She seemed to get as much a kick
out of it as I did. I was thinking I was all grown up and she must
have thought that I was becoming more and more like an actual
girlfriend. Two gals gossiping and smoking on the porch. During the
summer between the first and second grade when I was home with her
all the time I started smoking on a regular basis. By the time I
started second grade I needed a cigarette with that first cup of
coffee in the morning. At her suggestion, I was now calling my mother
Frances even to the point of being reprimanded when I would slip and
refer to her as mother. I suppose it is easier to abandon any
pretence of being a mother if your child calls you by your first name
and has become a committed cigarette smoker. The last thing Frances
wanted to think about was being a good mother.
It was during my second grade year that Frances told me during one of
our "girl talks" that she was hoping that I would have been a
daughter instead of a son. She knew by the time of my delivery that
there would be no father in the picture so she must have thought that
a daughter would be easier or at least more fun than a son. She told
me she had picked out the name Julia Frances. Julia after her mother
and of course Frances was her name. She never came right out and said
it but she must have been disappointed when she had to settle on
Robert after her father. Frances decided it would be fun to start
calling me Julia. By this time I was so happy to be getting attention
at all she could have called me anything she wanted to and I would
have answered to it. So from that time on I would be Julia to her
Frances. By age eight I was truly coming closer to her becoming her
best girlfriend. In the evening the two girls would sit around
eating our dinner while watching TV and having our cigarette after
the meal.
In 1960 my grandfather died. I remember going to the funeral and then
to my grandmothers house after the service. Her father had been in
real estate and timber. Although we saw little of the benefits
associated with his success, he must have done quite well for
himself. The next day on the long drive back to our house Frances
opened up for the first time and talked about her father and mother.
She must have had so much pinned up for so long that it all came
spilling out as she realized that she would never be able to confront
him and speak her mind. In a way his death brought us even closer.
She was not close to her mother and now I was her closest friend. As
we drove home she explained that her father was hardly ever at home.
He was always away. Her mother had grown accustom to the life of a
wealthy Atlanta socialite and left the raising of her only daughter
to the maid that was ever present in the homes of the rich back then.
Looking back having the benefit of the many years of conversations
with Frances I now believe that her father was probably gay. His away
trips could very well have been for business but some were certainly
trips to visit and stay with his various "associates". As was, I
suspect, not uncommon back then, he did the "right" thing and married
the woman who carried his seed - a seed planted perhaps to show he
could play the proper roll of a young male in Atlanta society.
Frances' mother may have had feelings for her father at first but it
was not long before she had her own "associates" and kept the home
fires burning so both of them could maintain their names in the
Atlanta Social Register. Frances was a casualty of appearances.
Not long after my grandfather died, we moved to Chicago. Frances had
inherited a good bit of money and she wanted to experience more life
than our rural area could provide. After all there was no need to
stay close enough to be loved by her father when he was gone. Within
a year my grandmother died as well. They say that often the spouse
dies of a broken heart shortly after the first dies. Then, maybe they
just die. We went back to Atlanta and stayed for several weeks.
Frances had all sorts of meetings in office buildings and bank
buildings. We stayed in her parent's old house. Their house was much
nicer than either our house in Georgia had been or our new house in
Chicago. Frances explained that we had inherited a good bit of money.
She was having all of the property sold and there would be no need to
come back to Atlanta again.
It was 1961. I was nine years old. We lived in Chicago. Our house was
much larger that our house in Georgia but still not over the top. It
was located in Chicago's near North section a few blocks from the
lake. I went to a public school not far from our house. This made it
convenient for me since I could come home for lunch and have a
cigarette or two before I had to get back to school. Starting a new
school in a big city has its advantage. No one knew me. I was
becoming more and more androgynous or feminine depending on your
viewpoint. Frances and I thought of it as a kind of game. We knew
what other people did not know. I was by now working at becoming more
of a girl. My hair was long and I wore girl's panties. Girls and boys
worn jeans so it was not that much of a stretch for me to wear what I
would have worn as a female anyway. Looking back I can see that
Frances was actively working on making me into a female. Perhaps I
did have some predisposition for being female. I don't really know. I
certainly never expressed any objection. Circumstance such as they
were, I would have probably gone along with anything since I was now
getting her attention.
She started teaching me the finer points of being female - how to
walk, how to sit, how to hold my hands. She showed me that you would
always get the check at a restaurant when you light a cigarette after
you were finished. At nine years old I still did not smoke that
openly in public but would race to our car after a meal to have that
cigarette. I remember eating at an IHOP near our house one Sunday
morning. We had been sitting next to a family with several children
my age only to have them look at me with their jaws dropped when they
got into their car after their meal and saw me sitting in the car
next to them in the parking lot and Frances lighting my cigarette.
It was at this same time that Frances had her doctor prescribe birth
control pills for her. She had never dated any man the whole time I
was growing up so she had no need what so ever for birth control
pills. What she had in mind was for me to start taking them. Way back
then we had little knowledge of the harmful effects they might have
on a woman, much less a boy of nine. She viewed them as a bit of a
joke. Another secrete she and I would share that set us apart from
the world. Of course I willingly took them. While not at school I
dressed in much more feminine attire all the time at home and most of
the time when we go out. After all, if you have long hair and are not
covered with dirt and scratches how different do nine years old boys
and girls look. I was slight in stature and have been trained to be
more "lady like" so passing myself off as a little girl was not that
much of a stretch. I enjoyed it and besides Frances wanted it. I
continued to attending school as an increasingly effeminate Robert
during the day and Julia moments after I arrived home.
Because I am at school during the day and Frances had no one to talk
to she decided to get a job. She ended up at Marshall Fields working
in the women's department. She was barely over thirty years old and
quite attractive. Given her Atlanta upbringing and social status she
has always had very good taste in clothes though she rarely felt a
desire or obligation to dress to her ability. Impressing the men was
never a priority for her. Marshall Fields was good for her. She
started buying better clothes for the both of us. Occasionally we
would go to one of the suburban Fields Stores and shop if she had a
weekend day off. It was on one of these shopping trips that she
bought my first bra. It was a training bra, but a bra never the less.
I could not wait to put it on. It made me feel so feminine and almost
grown up.
Because she worked and I got home around 3:30 I did most of the
cooking. I never minded doing it. I've always liked to cook. In
Chicago we did have a maid two times a week. She did the cleaning and
the laundry so our house was never dirty and we always had clean
clothes. Her name was Lucile. She would always call me Julia. Whether
it was because she did not care or just needed the job, she was in on
our secrete and never said a thing.
My breasts were developing slowly but were quite sensitive and had
started to fill out my training bra. The birth control pills were
after all giving me a head start that other genetic girls did not
have. Frances had large breast as did my grandmother so maybe I was
just growing into the family breasts.
Frances loved working at Marshal Fields. She was good at what she did
and had many loyal customers. On occasions Frances would meet her
clients after work for a drink. Most of the time it would be for a
drink or two and she would come home to dinner. A few times Frances
would bring her friends home. They were almost always nice and always
treated me as the young girl that I was becoming. A few would be
taken back by my smoking but would get used to it or not be invited
back. It was after my third grade year during that summer that
Frances and I first stated talking about sex. It never really came up
as a subject on its own. It just sort of arrived. She would talk
about wanting more attention. A different kind of attention than she
got from me. She would talk about an attractive client she would have
and how nice it would be to hold her and kiss her - not as we would
kiss as "regular" girlfriends when we met or said good-by but kiss
like lovers. I had certainly seen television enough to know that you
were supposed to kiss men if you were a woman. There were no lesbian
TV shows for sure. We talked about it and since I had never had any
close males in my life. I had nothing to compare to except
television. We both thought it would be OK for her to try it and see
if she liked it. I was not sure that I wanted to share her with
another female but it was not like I was going to lose a lover or
anything like that.
One of the women who had visited us for dinner a few times before
came to dinner one evening with a small bag. After dinner the three
of us watched TV for a while. As I was in the kitchen later that
evening that Frances came in and asked if I would mind going to my
room to watch TV. She wanted to spend time with just her friend. I
did as I was asked and went upstairs to my room. The next morning I
was the first to come down. As I was having my coffee and cigarette
Frances and her friend came down. They were both in their robes and
were holding hands. It was a strange feeling. Would I be replace or
have to share Frances with someone else?
It took me a few days to ask Frances about her "sleep over". You
could tell she had been just about ready to burst waiting to tell me
about it. She had of course been with my father so she had to have
had at least some experience but the way she went on and how excited
she got you would have thought that I had been the product of
Immaculate Conception. She told me all about everything they did and
how it made her feel. She even opened a bottle of wine and poured me
a glass to celebrate with her. We smoked, drank and talked through
the bottle of wine well into the morning hours. I'm sure it was in no
small part the wine since I had never even had an alcoholic drink
before much less been tipsy but I remember feeling so left out. I
started crying. Frances was happy and I was crying. I had never seen
either of us like this before. I was afraid I was loosing my best
girlfriend and I was also jealous that she could have the feelings
she described. Not only did her joy not involve me but she described
feelings that were totally alien to me. I had no sexual feelings of
any kind - male or female. I told her how I felt and why I was crying
and she responded as any girlfriend would - we hugged and both
started crying.
After a good cry we went upstairs to bed. For the first time in my
life she asked if I wanted to sleep with her. I jumped at the chance.
In all my memory I could never remember sleeping with anyone, much
less, sleeping next to a warm body before. I can see how important it
must be to give abandoned baby animals fuzzy dolls to sleep with. It
is a wonderful feeling snuggling next to Frances.
As if my story has not been odd enough up to now, it gets a little
more sorted in this next chapter of my life. I'll use a not all
together appropriate analogy here and some of you may object to it or
take it to be a substitute for what I am trying to say but I'll use
it only because it is one that does in spirit convey my situation and
the lengths I would go to get the attention I longed for. A child who
is beaten by a Parent will often act up so as to provoke the
punishment. The reason is hard to understand and accept but the child
wants the beating because it is the only action it knows to be
effective in getting the Parent's attention. I was never, ever beaten
by Frances. The point I am trying to make is that I would have done
what ever was productive to get Frances' attention. What you also
need to keep in mind is that Frances and I have never really had a
mother son/daughter relationship. Maybe there should have been one
but there wasn't.
That next day we talked some more about her feelings and my feelings.
In one sense our conversation was the same one that a progressive
mother and daughter might have. In another sense the conversation
could have been between two girlfriends comparing notes on their
sexual fantasies and what makes them happy. If one girlfriend has had
a climax and the other had not, she would most surly want to know all
about it. There may even be a "show and tell" or some
experimentation. Because of the unique relationship that I had with
Frances, all of those conversations took place. Again we slept
together but this time clear headed without the wine. She took my
hand and showed me what they did and what she liked. I would play
with her breast and she would play with mine to give me some idea
what it was like. She would show me with her tongue what she did and
what she liked. It was certainly nothing like it would be later in my
life but I got some idea as to the pleasure that can be derived using
your tongue. Frances loved the attention I gave her and I loved the
effect I had on her. To feel her buck and writhe and cry out with
pleasure as she had one climax after another was like my life finally
had some meaning. I had wanted to please my mother all my life but I
had to wait to please my best girlfriend to get the satisfaction I
had craved for so long. I loved that I could bring so much pleasure
to her.
Had it have been up to me we would have slept together every night
from that evening on. It took me a few more years to begin to
understand that her libido had its ebbs and flows. Not every night
could be like that first. It did however continue to be a several
times a week routine that we got into. When she would bring us a
bottle of wine for dinner I knew I could count of an evening of
pleasuring my best girlfriend.
During my high school years I worked summers at the same Marshall
Fields as Frances. We would take our smoke breaks and lunch together
everyday. We were now growing even closer to each other. She still
dated her women friends and I would have to do all I could to keep
from going crazy as I knew she was in her rooms giving and getting
pleasure from someone other than me. Like two best friends, she would
always tell me all about her dates and I could still not imagine what
it would be like to feel the passion she felt. When I started High
school I went to a private school. I was now living full time as a
female. With her father's money and the big City of Chicago as a
shopping cart it was not difficult for Frances to purchase false
identification for me showing that I was a female. In my junior year
we began to get serious about my changing my gender for real. I had
never been to see any therapist about changing genders since it had
been so natural for me to become a female. There had been no onset of
the typical male puberty and my breasts were now fully developed for
my age. Harry Benjamin had only introduced his protocol for Gender
Reassignment Surgery a few years earlier and was just starting to be
the benchmark that would be the criteria for undertaking the
procedure. The summer between my junior and senior year Frances and I
went to Europe to see the sights and find someone to do the surgery.
We finally found a surgeon in Belgium who for the right price would
do my SRS. He had done enough of them to satisfy Frances and me that
I would be in good hands. He would also give me breast augmentation
surgery and a bit of work to better feminize my face. Frances also
had a few minor things done. My operation was in late July. I was now
a woman and just a few months short of my actual 17th birthday. Thank
heavens for grandpa's money. It does get your foot in the door when
other things might fail. I was only now starting to appreciate him
more.
Back in Chicago Frances and I settle back into our daily routine. She
would go back to Marshal Fields and I would finish up my senior year.
Frances and I continue to sleep together several nights a week. It
was still every bit as much fun as it was the first couple of times
we tried it. Only now it has a lot more meaning for me. The more I
healed and the more sensitive I became, I too started to have in some
small way some of the same feelings she was having. I could never
have imagined that it would feel the way it does. I can understand
why she liked it so much.
I graduated from high school and went to work in a women's boutique
off North Michigan Avenue. College was never in the cards for me. I
did experiment with relations with men and while it was nice to be
courted and made "love" to I ultimately fell in Frances' footsteps
and dated other women. Frances found someone she finally fell in love
with. Her name is Kerri and she was one of Frances' customers. Kerri
worked for one of the magazines in town so they were always off to
this opening or that opening. Frances sold our house and she and
Kerri got their own place. Between the sale of the house and
grandpa's old money I was able to buy a place for myself not too far
from where they lived. I eventually found my true love, an architect
named Liz. In 1980 we moved into a place she designed for us in one
of Chicago's near northern suburbs.
There's not much more to say except that Frances died in 2002 after a
long bout with breast cancer. Liz and I continued to see Kerri almost
weekly until we retired and moved to Marin County north of San
Francisco in 2007.
As I get older and have more free time to think, I wonder how all
this happened. I suppose I had some predisposition to my femininity
from the beginning. I never felt pressured to do anything I did not
want to do. At first, certainly I wanted the love of my mother. When
I had the opportunity to become her best girlfriend, I jumped at it.
It may not have been the relationship I wanted but it was a
relationship. In a way I had her love, just not like most kids that
age. Being treated like an adult must have compensated for other
feelings. I got to spend a lot more time with Frances than most kids
get to spend with their mother. I fit so easily into my female role.
I never had a second thought about having the operation. Who is to
say that I would not have chosen the same path later in my life had
not Frances shown the light on the path I chose early in my life.
I'll make one last observation about Frances. Had I not had the
opportunity to help raise Liz's daughter (a daughter I think of as my
own) I might never have had the chance to see how a more conventional
parent raises a child. As much as Liz and I tried to not pull the
"Mommy" trump card which is to say to a child "you will do this or
that because I am your Mother and I know what is best for you".
Almost from the first time Frances and I started to think of
ourselves as girlfriends, she never pulled the "Mommy" rank on me.
Certainly when I was a young child eager for her attention I would
defer to her wishes rather than run the risk of once again loosing
her attention. Very early on in our "co-equals" relationship we made
decisions together. I now know it was in part, that she had no idea
what was best for me but as early as age nine or ten we were more or
less equals. By the time we slipped into bed together we talked about
what we wanted to do and did negotiate back and forth until we had a
course of action that we could both embrace. Perhaps she should have
been a "Mommy" rather than Frances. The reality was she was never
much of a Mommy. She had always been Frances to my Julia. It just
took us a while to discover the relationship that worked for us.
Sitting on the deck with a nice California wine and my Salems - yes,
I still smoke and have since I was eight years old. There is no doubt
in my mind that smoking is not a healthy thing to do. Here in
California I feel I must be one of only twelve smokers left in the
state. Truth is I can't help but think of Frances every time I reach
for one of "our" Salems. Memories come flooding back to me. She and
they are a part of me. I do not honestly believe I could ever stop
smoking. Frances made me who I am today in every sense of the word
and for better or worse; smoking is a part of that. I'm now a 57 year
old woman living in a wonderful place with a woman I still deeply
love after thirty years. We have a wonderful daughter who along with
her husband presented us with our first grandchild two years ago - a
boy.
I miss Frances every day. She was my best girlfriend.
Eisley
- 22.04.2020
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